


Losing Your Memory

by LaWren0



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Heartbreak, Multi, Post-Trespasser, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Solas Smut, Solavellan, Solavellan Fluff, The Angst of Solavellan Hell, shape shifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaWren0/pseuds/LaWren0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon to be collection of Solavellan one shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Losing Your Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan survives the end of the world, but her solace is in the past, in memory of what was. Strangely, so is Solas', still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Trespasser, please mind the spoilers.  
> If you're the type that likes to listen to music as you read, this was inspired in great part by 'Ryan Star - Losing Your Memory'

Wake up, little girl.

She felt so small in this new world. Out of place, didn’t belong, didn’t fit. She lived alone, travelled often, refused to integrate into Elvhen society. She _hated_ it. The glorious restored empire built upon the broken bones of her people, the prosperous soil soaked in their blood. _His_ new Arlathan, propped up by the lives of her friends.

It hurt so much to remember them, even after so many decades, but she was terrified to forget.

She’d lost most of them in trying to stop him from tearing down the Veil. The first had been Cullen, ambushed alone for straying too far into Elvhen ruins on her behest, searching for anything they could use; information, artefacts, _anything._ What he’d found was one of Fen’Harel’s strongholds, and paid for it with his life. The Wolf sent his body back to her. To this day she wasn’t sure whether it had been a kindness or a warning.

Sera and Blackwall went out together, successfully taking out another stronghold in the process with a supremely flashy, Red Jenny-esque explosion. Sera, smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for, managed to get hold of Qunari _gaatlok_ and modified it some; Blackwall had protected her as she’d set the charges. It levelled the already crumbling ruins and left a lingering aura of blood lotus in the air, ensuring that any elves attempting to build there even now would start to hallucinate and walk away in a state of confusion. A permanent scar on the landscape no one could ever forget, _‘yeah, that’s **our** land, knobbers.'_

Varric had been assassinated, something she’d thought he would never be capable of, but Kirkwall’s elves were very much part of the Resistance, and their Viscount’s death had sown just enough fear and doubt in their ranks for Fen’Harel to get the upper hand in the Free Marches.

When the Iron Bull and the majority of his Chargers had been taken out in a bloody, brutal skirmish over a then neutral eluvian, cold hate had settled in Dorian’s broken heart. He’d never forgiven her for sacrificing his love for the sake of hers, and she never expected him to. But it was at that point she made the decision to kill the Wolf rather than save him. Dorian was her best friend, her brother, her _lethallin._ Seeing him so broken hurt her too much, after everything, _everything_ they’d been through, all that pain, death, suffering, was too much. Some things could not be forgiven.

She would _kill_ him.

Vivienne and her mages had tried to carve a path for her, to get to him, and of course they had not failed. It was _her_ failings that let him get away, her weak heart. The two of them had cut down everything that stood in their way, no mercy, every agent of his that tried to stop them fell to their spirit blades. They met in person for the first time in seven months, since he’d left her again at the base of that eluvian. And again he lied. He’d talked instead of fought, and she was foolish enough to have listened, to be given hope he would change his mind. He’d _pretended_ to be having doubts about his path, pretended to be swayed by her presence, just long enough to cut her off from Vivienne. The Enchanter was killed right in front of her. She’d seen red, and turned on him, desperate to end this. His sentinels got in the way. She at least took pride in the fact that she had taken many immortal lives that day before Fen’Harel himself stepped in to magically subdue her.

Then she was his prisoner for a while, and she wished he had just killed her instead. Her freedom was one of the most precious things to her, and he took it because it inconvenienced him. _Hypocrite._

Harding had been lost in setting her free, and Briala had been gravely wounded, succumbing to her injuries a few agonizing days later, after passing control of the few eluvians she’d clawed back over to her. She didn’t understand why everyone still seemed to have such unshakable faith in her, to put the fate of the world in her hands again.

It didn’t matter, in the end. She failed them.

Cassandra and Cole fell in the final siege, upon Skyhold. That was where he used Mythal’s Foci to tear down the Veil. She’d been there, and had even managed to follow him into the rift he’d opened. They came to blows in the Fade, physically, and fought for what felt like centuries. She’d survived only because he refused to kill her. She kept attacking, and he would just deflect, shield himself, knock her back without ever striking for a fatal blow until she’d become so exhausted, her hurt and rage and hate and love were the only thing keeping her going. Eventually he’d put an end to it, taking advantage of her fatigue, snaking a perfectly timed winter’s grasp under her freshly eroded barrier. She’d fallen, half frozen, half _dying_ , and he’d at least had the decency to check she would be alright before he tore her world asunder.

Any who were not elves suffered then. Many humans, non-mages, got sick and died. Dwarves had to retreat underground or be sent mad. Qunari fared little better, and remained isolated and weak. No one could resist the return of the Elvhen. Divine Victoria held out admirably, her agents stopping assassination attempts at every turn, but then Josie was kidnapped and used as leverage in an attempt to control the Divine, and thus, the armies of the faithful. Leliana stirred in a pinch of deathroot alongside some sweet honey into her wine.

Tevinter was the last nation to fall to the new world order, Dorian being Archon for just a few short weeks; he joked that that much should surely be enough to appease his father, as he lay dying in her arms. Minrathous – finally conquered – was ash, everything was, everything was burning – _how could ash burn?_ – and the most important person in her life was dying slowly. _‘Too slowly, vishante kaffas, this hurts.'_ Please don’t go, please, _please._ I need you, there’s nothing else left for me, I can’t-

Gone.

She’d screamed. That much she remembered, because the sounds coming from her own mouth had scared her.

But Dorian could not have been allowed to live, not when he was so close to a breakthrough in manipulating time magic safely. The Wolf could not have them going back in time to take his victory out from under him.

And so she was alone.

She had changed. Her hair had lightened with the stress, and she could no longer recall what shade of red it used to be. The light strawberry blonde was at least a little less conspicuous. It didn’t truly matter; she stayed far away from civilization, never wandered across the other Evanuris’ territory. She stayed safely within Fen’Harel’s jurisdiction, as much as it disgusted her. With Mythal’s aid he was strong enough to keep the others in check, even collectively. Some days she wasn’t certain why she carried on; it would be an easy thing, to end her own life, and maybe, _maybe_ , the Maker really was waiting with her friends to receive her. But she was one of the few who remembered the world as it used to be, and more importantly the _people_ that used to be in it, and who would remember them, if she didn’t?

But she was losing her memory. Time eroded at the detail in the mental images, and it terrified her. Some days she could not recall their faces with the clarity she could in others, and she would cry herself to sleep those nights, hoping to be exhausted enough to dream of them instead.

Her dreams were her solace, ironically. She didn’t know if he was discreetly manipulating them in a pleasant direction for her, but the nightmares only came when she pushed for them, to remind herself of all she’d done. She deserved to be in this much pain.

For so many decades. She had changed, yes, but also not. She had not aged. Cursed with immortality now. Trapped, like this, forever. She didn’t know if she could do forever. But she’d certainly try. For her friends, there was nothing she wouldn’t do.

They were dead, and it seemed it was not enough for her to have _learned_. For even now she relied on him, for her safety on his land, for her peace of mind in dreams. And it was this that allowed him to track her down so easily.

He came to her at sunset one day, as she admired Sera’s handiwork from a safe distance. It was sadly the only place that reminded her of home. She didn’t react as he lowered himself to sit beside her in the too dry grass.

“It mars the beauty of the landscape.” He pointed out unnecessarily, “Sera would no doubt be very pleased.”

“As am I.” She murmured, a small but genuine smile quirking her lips, even as it was accompanied with the usual pang in her chest.

He wisely did not reply to that.

“It has been many years since I last saw you.” He said instead, again pointing out the obvious, “I have worried for your wellbeing.” She would not give him the opening.

“One of your spies saw me a month ago.” She responded, deadpan.

He sighed. “That was not what I meant, as you well know.”

She finally looked over at him, tired. He did not seem to have changed much, at least physically. He’d forgone his usual gilded armour; she didn’t truly care whether it was for her benefit or not that he looked closer to the man she fell in love with.

It hurt to look at him, regardless.

Yet she persisted, “We did not exactly part on good terms.”

“Ah yes,” his mouth twisted into a wry smile, “you tried to kill me.”

There were many sentiments she considered responding with, from dark humour to scathing insults, and in the end stayed silent for too long.

“There are some days I wish you had succeeded.” He confessed quietly, glancing away.

“I thought you were meant to die when you tore the Veil?” she inquired before she could stop herself.

From the way he smiled again, it seemed he too was reminded of her inquisitive nature, more pleasantly so than she was, “I thought so too. It was Mythal’s essence that saved me.”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence for a while. She had never really been good at social interaction _before_ , and now she’d been alone for so long she had quite forgotten how to do it. But she was reasonably certain it was not at all acceptable for him to reach over and _touch_ her.

She flinched and pulled back, but her hair was long enough that it just wove between his fingers instead.

“Your hair...” he murmured, sounding mournful. She blinked. He had destroyed her world and he thought it was appropriate to worry about her _hair?_

He continued to wind it around his fingers it as he spoke, “Redheads are so very rare, and the colour of yours was unlike any I had ever seen. Perhaps it is best it has faded; Andruil would have been positively envious.”

That drew a somewhat amused huff from her, if she could feel such a thing anymore, “It is not my hair Andruil would have been envious of.” She gave him a pointed look.

She thought maybe there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, but then he let his hand fall away and he could no longer look her in the eye.

“They do not know of you.” He assured, even as he frowned in worry.

“That won’t last.” She told him, causing his frown to etch deeper, “Nor will they always concede to you; they’re likely plotting to overthrow you right now.”

“I will keep you safe,” he promised, raising his gaze to hers again, “They would not dare cross me, not after the lengths I went to in order to defeat them last time.”

She looked back towards the horizon, and said nothing.

So he had to make the leap again, “I came to ask if there was anything I could do for you.”

It took a few moments for that to sink in, for a spark of genuine anger to finally ignite within her; was he deliberately trying to antagonize her? She would not rise to the bait, if so.

“No.” She said simply, determinedly focusing on the darkening sky, trying to remain as impassive as possible.

He sighed as if dealing with an unnecessarily stubborn child, “Luthori, this is no way to live. I could hel-”

“I don’t live.” She cut him off, her tone stinging like the crack of a whip, “I _survive_. And I don’t go by that name anymore.”

She could tell he was frowning in concern as he spoke, though she refused to look, “Why not?”

“Luthori Lavellan is gone. She died with her friends.”

“I refuse to accept that.” He spoke curtly, but there was a curious edge of panic in his voice.

“Irrelevant.” She commented shortly.

There was a short, charged pause before he spoke again, “She cannot be dead as long as I remember her, and I swore never to forget.”

“You swore?” she intoned softly, “And who is that? Fen’Harel would surely never hold room in his heart for such a sentiment, and you cannot be _Solas_. Solas is dead too. Fen’Harel killed him slowly, little by little, alongside each loss of our friends. Each person lost to his goals.”

The temperature seemed to drop, and with it she realized the sun was now out of sight. She lay down to look at the emerging stars instead, as she so often did. He followed her lead and lay beside her; she could not imagine what he was thinking, but it was not altogether surprising when she felt his hand rest atop hers hesitantly. When she did not pull away, he laced his fingers between hers. Though she didn’t squeeze back, he held on tightly, and as she turned her head to look at him she could feel the tremors in his arm. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed, his breathing seemingly strained. She realized he needed this, then. He had probably needed this for a very long time, and denied himself.

Did _she_ need this?

“Is that how you cope?” he whispered hoarsely, keeping his eyes closed as though he couldn’t bear to look at her, “You separate what was from what is; separate the man you loved, from the monster that destroyed everything you loved?”

“I suppose that’s an adequate summary, yes.” She responded tonelessly.

He looked like he was going to cry, “I...we...” he took a moment to collect himself, “But what if some part of Solas and Luthori remain? And they remember each other? Then they cannot die.”

She thought about that for a short while, “Maybe it’s best they forget, so that they don’t hurt each other anymore.”

He was shaking his head in the corner of her eye, “I cannot let her go.”

She extricated her hand from his, “You already did.”

 _You’re losing your memory now._ She rolled onto her side, turned her back to him. She could hear him sobbing, a dam finally burst, and it made her cry too, but there was nothing else she could do. Through the haze of her grief she picked up on him speaking, some of it nonsense to her ears, some ancient elvish she had never bothered to learn, and she was glad of it because the words she did understand fractured her repeatedly broken heart. He clung to her like she was his last vestige of hope, “Ir abelas, vhenan, ir abelas. You were right all along, I was weak, I was foolish-” every few words his speech was punctured with heart wrenching sobs, “I was _wrong_. I raised my people from the ashes of yours and I am still alone. I’m _sorry_. Please. You are all I have left, even now. I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. What I have done has not erased my mistake, only exemplified it, _doubled_ it, and I- I need-”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and continued to cry; she could feel warm, wet tears trailing down to disappear into her hair, or down her collarbone. She cried openly too, because she was hurting to see him hurting, and it hurt even more that that was still possible. “Please vhenan,” he choked out, “This world is meaningless for me without you, there is nothing else.”

He kissed the tracks her tears left down her cheeks.

Did she need this?

She turns her head to capture his lips with hers. They both whimper in relief. Yes, she did. She wants this memory.

They kiss passionately, each eager to be lost in the other. He lifts the hem of her dress and she unfastens the ties on his breeches. He stops, raised on his elbows above her, and places his hands on her face so he can slowly swipe his thumbs beneath her eyes. Kisses her sweetly once, twice...thrice; slowing down. Pulls back to look into her eyes and make sure they are both _present._

“Yes?” he asks simply.

She is sure her gaze is molten, _“Yes.”_

He mumbles something more in elvish as he slips inside her, but it is lost to the sensation. She clings to him because it feels as though the ground is rolling out from under her. _“Solas.”_ She breathes, and he moans, buries his face in her hair so he can whisper her name too. Over and over again.

_Remember who I am in the morning._

_Wake up, it’s time, little girl._

She awakes with her head pillowed on his bicep, his hand in her hair, the other arm across her waist, his even breathing on the back of her neck. She’d half expected to wake alone, and wonders if she should leave him now. He deserves it. So does she.

Her friends surely wouldn’t begrudge her doing what she had to in order to carry on?

You’re losing your memory now.

Wisps hover nearby in the tree line, whispering, almost gossiping from the sounds of it. Deep purple, soft pink, and bright blue drift closer to her face. They emit a comforting aura, if she’d let them soothe her. The added light wakes him, and he presses half asleep kisses to the nape of her neck. The pink wisp gasps in delight, and he chuckles, lazily lifting his hand for it to contentedly settle in his palm. The sound makes her heart ache; makes her think of the first rift they had ever closed, of Varric’s introduction and his nicknames. The memories are so _sharp_ when he is here. It is not necessarily a bad thing.

The other wisps dance around for a moment before choosing to satisfy their curiosity; the blue one moves to gently lift strands of her hair and the purple one settles on her hip, over where Solas’ hand comes to rest. _Solas._ The most recent memories are intense heat coiled in her belly.

The pink wisp hovers by his ear, whispering. After a moment he hums in agreement. “They think your spirit is very beautiful,” he murmurs to her, “but also very sad, and they usually cannot stand to be around you for very long.”

“Oh. So that’s why they keep visiting me.”

“They say I am the same.” he confides, “Though they also say the pain is duller, now.” The blue one is still stroking her hair, while the pink one whispers and the purple one looks on sadly.

“There are many spirits in Halam’Arlathan, vhenan, whom I know would like to meet you.” He tells her, pressing his body into her back, “Spirits of Compassion-”

Oh, _Cole._

“-of Wisdom, and Love. If you would come with me to-”

“I can’t.” She shoots down the notion immediately and without mercy, “I won’t.”

She may be unbelievably selfish, in this unhealthy moment of weakness, but she is not about to drag the memories of her world through the mud any more than she already has. She has lost enough.

Solas is silent for a moment, before he moves his arm from under her head to better prop himself up. He stares down at her with a strange expression on his face.

“We could rule the world together.” He states, matter of fact, and then his tone deepens, “But that is not what you want.”

She closes her eyes and slowly shakes her head. “I want no part of it.” She intones roughly, and opens her eyes to smile at him gently, “Except you.”

There was nothing else, after all.

His expression softens, and he leans down to kiss her languidly.

“Ma nuvenin, vhenan.” He whispers against her lips, and she smiles, genuinely, “Anything you want.”

“Ar lath ma.” She breathes, feeling the truth of the words settle in her bones. She prays the dead can forgive her. She hopes she can forgive _herself._ They both know _he_ will receive no forgiveness from anyone.

He kisses her again in answer, dislodging the wisps as he uses an arm to draw her impossibly closer. They grumble softly at the both of them, and she chuckles into the kiss. In this moment, she is happy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for a sort of happy ending? I'd appreciate it if you could leave feedback, please and thank you; I'm trying to refine my writing style, as it seems to depend a lot of what type of story I'm writing, if that makes sense. Please note that the transition from past to present tense was intentional, and hopefully not too jarring.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> \- LaWren


	2. Where it Will Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Don't be alone with her,' he tells himself, 'for you know where it will lead.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I should just tell you to leave, 'cos I, know exactly where it leads but I, watch us go round and round each time.' - Taylor Swift, 'Style', the musical inspiration for this one. That one line.

Solas was always extremely careful to mostly avoid situations in which he would be completely alone with her. For he knew where it would lead.

He would not lay with her under false pretences. But he was so sorely tempted, hence it was best to minimize the opportunity.

Never go up to her chambers, not after the last time _(ar lath ma, vhenan);_ she had to come to him, and the library was thankfully (disappointingly) never empty. Take meals in the great hall, or in the rotunda. Don't stray too far from the rest of the party as they travel. Take walks together only in communal areas. _Don't be alone with her._

Yet sometimes it could not be helped. They'd shared a tent previously of course, but that was before he told her he loved her. Now sharing a sleeping space took on different dimensions. He would usually share with Varric, or Cole, or Blackwall. She would share with anyone, so there was never this much of a fuss. But no, Dorian wanted to share with the Iron Bull, and Lavellan could never deny her best friend anything.

"You don't mind, do you Solas?"

He had to admit, in this particular party he was limited in options. And he didn't want Lavellan to know he was avoiding her, in a sense.

"Not at all, lethallan."

He would have to keep his guard up tonight.

That proved even more difficult than he anticipated. She got undressed in front of him, for one thing, entirely unashamed with her nudity. He did his best to keep his eyes off her and concentrated on changing into his own sleeping attire; a pair of loose, soft cotton pants and a simple undershirt. While she simply threw on an oversized shirt and was done with it. Then, she flopped face down onto her bedroll, stretching out long, bare legs and snuggling into the pillow, her hair unbound and fanning out above her head.

It was going to be a long night.

He tried to read, but found he couldn't focus on the words in the slightest, and gave up in moments. With a wave of his hand he extinguished the candle next to him. He lay on his back and just breathed, keeping his mind carefully blank; meditating, focusing on the sound of his breathing, the feel of each slow inhale and exhale.

He could hear her breathing.

It was slow and soft, barely making any sound at all. It was mesmerizing. If he listened hard enough, perhaps he could even hear her heartbeat...thrumming in her chest. He imagined placing a palm over it, between her breasts. Sliding his hand down, over a taut stomach, to the waistband of her small clothes. Her breath would hitch deliciously as he dipped his fingers underneath, searching curiously for that telling wetness...

Solas inhaled through his nose sharply when she touched him. She'd shifted closer in the dark, and placed a hand on his chest lightly, pressing her legs against the side of his. For just a second he thought he was in the Fade, fallen asleep to the comforting lull of his fantasies, and this was one of _those_ dreams; those dreams he had shamefully (gratifyingly) often. But then she spoke, and he knew it was _her_ , warm and solid and so very _real._

"I can't sleep." Her lips brushed his jaw as she whispered, and he found his arm snaking under her body to hold her waist. 'You must try vhenan', he meant to say, alongside a justification about needing rest and long, hard days of travelling and fighting ahead.

Instead, lowly, teasing, "That simply will not do."

He could feel her smile against his skin, mischievous and playful, and her hand wandered; at the same time she threw a bare leg across his and pressed a slow, wet kiss behind his ear. A triple assault.

He knew what she wanted.

In the dark and quiet it seemed so easy to give in; so far removed from the world. Here in this moment there was just her, him, and the longing ache in their bodies. He could only just make out her slight, elegant curves in the darkness as she raised herself onto her knees, admired the way she moved as she straddled his hips. He swallowed harshly, his hands resting on her thighs. He would have to find the will to end this soon, before it went too far. _You knew where this would lead._ She leaned down and kissed him, and it was delectably hot and languid. Her skin was soft and very warm under his firm hands; they wandered to cup her backside and squeezed gently. A small sound of pleasure caught in her throat, and he had to remind himself to breathe. She too took the opportunity to come up for air, but kept their faces very close as she rolled her hips against his experimentally. The friction made him gasp quietly. His arousal was obvious, as was his apprehension, apparently. For she kissed him again, briefly, sweetly, reassuring.

"Vhenan..." He should tell her to stop. Then, she took his hand and guided it between her legs, exhaling softly when he touched her.

 _Oh._ His fingers came away slick. Her mouth was on his neck, trailing kisses up to the sensitive tip of his ear, where she licked and sucked, and he struggled to keep his groans quiet. He pressed his fingers firmer against her core, and relished in the low, throaty sounds near his ear.

_Stop this now._

Would pleasuring her be such a bad thing? He could bring her to completion with his fingers, right now. And that would be the end of it. But she would want to reciprocate. And then he'd want more; _fenedhis,_ there were so many _more_ ways he'd like to have her. He could quite easily spend the rest of the night with his face buried between her thighs and his mouth and tongue kissing, licking, tasting-

With a surge of newfound strength, Solas grabbed her hips and lifted her off him, rolling them over swiftly. Lavellan gasped and clutched at him in surprise that did not last long; she pulled at him, eager to bring him back to her.

He would have none of it.

"No, vhenan." He admonished, not unkindly. Lavellan let out a fiercely disappointed huff that he could empathize with perfectly. They lay quietly for a short moment before her hand came up to caress his cheek.

"Can I ask why?"

He wished she wouldn't. He didn't know what to say. It was utterly wrong to lay with her when she didn't know who he truly was, but he could hardly tell her that.

"Do you...not want me that way? That's okay, some people just don't care for sex. I don't mind. I still love you."

 _Bless you, you sweet, understanding soul. You beautiful, marvellous spirit._ It was a convenient excuse, and she offered it to him freely, if unwittingly. But it was too far from the truth for his liking.

"It's not that." He told her gently, "I just...am not used to such intimacy. I am not entirely comfortable with it. I have been alone for a long time..." She traced the shape of his lips with her fingertip, halting his speech.

"It's okay. I understand. I can wait, as long as you need. Don't worry." She spoke in hushed whispers, and he relaxed, smiling softly.

"Thank you." He kissed her chastely, and she smiled back. They bedded down properly, combining their bedrolls and ending up with a veritable mountain of blankets and furs. She giggled delightfully as they were buried in a soft, warm cocoon. He held her close and pressed his face to her hair, "Sleep, vhenan. I shall meet you in the Fade."

They had little trouble falling asleep then.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The few times your Inquisitor ever seems to be truly alone with their love interest is when they steal romance moments, and sometimes (most of the time, let's be real) not even then.
> 
> Solas-mancers get to actually be alone with him in the Fade, when he kisses you on your balcony, and when he takes you to the glen in Crestwood. That's it. The rest of the time he hangs in suspiciously communal areas. This is my head-canon reasoning for that.
> 
> This wasn't meant to be the next one, by the way, but inspiration struck. Oh well. Third person subjective Solas is hard to write. I hope I did okay.
> 
> \- LaWren


	3. Stay With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She couldn't stand to be separated from him, though he seemed to think it was necessary. Perhaps he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Trespasser, so please mind the spoilers if you haven't played the DLC yet.
> 
> Soundtrack for this one; 'Game of Thrones OST (season 4) - Breaker of Chains'

"Solas, come talk to me."

It was a long shot. Though he would check on her in the Fade almost every night, he never talked to her, never drifted too close. Never let her reach for him.

As she suspected, the wolf appeared unmoved. He remained where he was, just beyond the tree line, laid down and seemingly content to just watch her.

Lavellan sighed and pillowed her head on her arm. She had taken to sprawling out on the soft grass also, as she usually did when he brought her to this part of the Fade. She suspected he had constructed it especially for her; a bright, open clearing, teeming with wildflowers, surrounded by a lush forest. Innocuous wildlife flitted about often, reminding her of Dalish settlements. It was beautiful here.

So why did it feel like a cage?

"I miss you." She told him quietly, threading her fingers through the grass; her arm was whole here, and she was glad of it, though it made waking up that little bit worse. His head dropped onto his paws miserably, but he didn't move. In fact, he whined a little.

'I'm here vhenan.' Was what she imagined he was trying to convey. Trying to comfort her.

She smiled, "Do you miss me?"

The wolf whined again, stronger this time. This was the most communication she'd gotten out of him in months.

She felt no thrill of victory, though, "I don't want you to feel lonely."

He stared at her for a long while, regarding her sadly.

Lavellan propped herself up on her elbow, "I don't understand why you won't let me stay with you. I want to be by your side no matter what. I can't stand being separated from you, Solas, ma sa'lath."

The wolf's ears flattened against his head, and he heaved a sorrowful sigh. But otherwise didn't budge, physically or metaphorically.

"Can't we just..." she trailed off, not sure what to say, "Can't we just be together in the Fade, at least? I won't ask where you are or what you're doing. I won't even try to convince you to change your path. Please, Solas."

He had raised his head as she'd put forward her proposal, almost like he had perked up in optimism. At least, she hoped she was correct in interpreting it that way.

" _Please_ Solas." She tried again desperately, sitting up herself, unconsciously mirroring his body language.

The wolf stood suddenly, and her heart sank. She'd blown it.

Then he took a cautious step towards her, and she near fell over in surprise. He took another step, and then another. His legs were shaking slightly, and they moved stiffly as though some unseen force was pulling him to her. She dared not move, lest she startle him away. He slowed as he drew close enough to touch, keeping just barely an arm's length between them.

She hardly breathed as she raised her hand towards his face. Her eyes were bright and wide with shock, but she smiled all the same. When her fingertips made contact with fur, she inhaled deeply, and realized she'd half expected for him to disappear, for her to wake up cold and alone in her bed. No such luck. He nuzzled her hand affectionately, and she laughed once.

Knowing he wouldn't leave made her bold, and she practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shaggy neck as she continued her joyful laughter. He hummed in contentment, pleased he'd made her happy. She pulled back and threaded her fingers deep into soft, warm fur.

"I'm so glad you agree to this! No matter what happens, I'd prefer to have this with you than nothing, and I won't ever regret it. I won't ever regret loving you."

The wolf blinked slowly, his blue-gray eyes clear with great intelligence, before they began to glow. The soft blue light spread to the rest of his body, and in a second she was holding a crouching elf.

"Nor I you, vhenan." His tone was soft and yet somehow still fierce, "Never. As long as I live, I will love you. Perhaps even after that, depending on the circumstances."

She grinned, and clutched him to her again, but he pulled back just enough to eagerly capture her lips with his own. She let him indulge himself, exploring her mouth with his tongue ever so slowly; she may have even moaned a little, for he moved to lay her down and press her into the grass with his upper body, not once removing his lips from hers.

Then she made an urgent muffled sound that startled him, and he pulled away.

"Oh!" she gasped, remembering something, "I was hoping to show you what I found in the Fade!"

Solas tilted his head slightly in curiosity, "Oh? What is that?"

"It's a surprise." She told him, her tone playful, "Come with me?"

He nodded a little hesitantly. Lavellan closed her eyes and breathed, and when she opened them again, their environment had changed. They were now in the presence of Elvhen ruins, surrounded by sprawling hills, similar to the Exalted Plains. He was staring at her with something akin to wonder.

"How..?"

"Shh." She hushed him and stood, bringing him with her. Taking his hand, she turned from him and grinned in anticipation of what she was about to reveal.

"Wisdom?" she called gently, and his head whipped around to look at her in shock, "Are you here?"

Almost immediately she received a response, _"Lethallan!"_

A spirit came barrelling out of nowhere to meet her, stopping just short of rushing through her, which would have felt somewhat unpleasant. Though it was as tall as she was, it was very young, and held all the mannerisms of a child.

"It's so good to see you again! Aneth ara!" Wisdom greeted her enthusiastically, before finally seeming to notice Solas, "Is this him?"

"Yes." The elf replied, proudly taking her counterpart's arm even as she squeezed his hand. The spirit drifted closer to him and observed his face, apparently searching for something.

"Yes." It agreed.

"Yes?" Solas echoed in half befuddlement, half melancholy.

"Yes." Wisdom confirmed, nodding, "I remember your face. You killed me. But that's okay, because when I died, I was born again too."

It glanced at Lavellan and they shared a look, before It turned to him again, "Lavellan said that we were good friends, when I was old, but I don't remember that."

"We were," he replied, "For centuries, we were friends."

"Oh. Well, then," the spirit was so excited she floated up a little, "I look forward to being friends again!"

A smile stretched across his face, somewhat pained, but somehow also serene, "I would like that."

"Good!" It exclaimed, "There's so much you can teach me! I can't wait!" Wisdom looked to Lavellan once more, "But I can't stay right now; I promised another friend I would help them, and they need me."

"Alright." She responded amicably, "Dareth shiral, lethallan."

"Dareth shiral." The spirit echoed, and Solas nodded to It, words seemingly beyond him for the time being. Wisdom vanished into the ether a second later, and the vapours had barely dissolved before he tugged her to him. A startled sound escaped her as he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply before speaking, _"Thank you, vhenan."_

Her arms came up to return the embrace, "Are you alright?"

"I...yes." he replied. He held her for a moment longer before pulling away to look at her with an expression she didn't much like.

"I don't deserve you." He murmured, his eyes a little too glossy, "I...I don't..." She had only ever heard him struggle for words twice before, when he had been building up to telling her he loved her, and when he had broken her heart.

"Don't." She ordered firmly, nipping that in the bud immediately, "Don't pull away. Not now."

But Solas shook his head with that look on his face, still, and it was like Crestwood all over again.

"I don't want to hurt you." He told her, "But I will. I will if I stay with you-"

"And you will if you leave me! _Again!"_

He winced, and she took a breath.

"It will hurt more if you leave me." She continued somewhat evenly, as though her heart wasn't hammering in panic.

"I shouldn't hurt you at all." He argued, anger at himself seeping into his tone.

"It's too late for that."

He closed his eyes in pain. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, "All I have done is brought you misery."

"That's not true-"

"It is. Do not attempt to spare my feelings." He countered, and his tone was as sharp as his gaze, "I have ruined your life. Even now I work towards destroying this world, and everything you love within it. Yet you love me still? _Why?"_

It was a genuine question, and one she had to truly think on.

Slowly, Lavellan took his hand in hers, his right to her left, the one that once held the Anchor. She held their hands up and played with his fingers, "What I feel for you, is not something I can stop and start at will. Love. It is either there, or it's not. There is no middle ground, and you won me over long ago."

Solas shook his head again, still baffled, "But it brings you pain."

"And your love for me doesn't?" she asked, settling her other hand over his heart.

"That was my own doing." He responded gravely, "I knew it would bring me pain in the end. You did not."

She nodded, "That's true. But...let me ask you something."

"Anything." He replied, and truly meant it.

She looked him squarely in the eye, "If you could go back and do it again, would you keep your distance to spare me, or would you be selfish and take my heart again?"

He blinked, before looking down in an approximation of shame. She already knew the honest answer.

"I would choose to be close to you again too, even if it hurts." She told him openly. His eyes met hers again.

Lavellan smiled gently, lacing their fingers together, "So let me stay with you."

"...I am selfish," he breathed, his gaze alternating between her eyes and her lips, "I am unfair."

"Yes." She agreed, tilting her face up invitingly, "And you are my heart."

"Ar lath ma." He murmured as his free hand came up to thread through her hair, and he kissed her.

She kissed him back fiercely, fisting her hand into his tunic to keep him as close as possible, while the other held onto his tightly. He didn't truly realize she was pressing him backwards until his back hit a wall, and she was able to press her body harder against his. He kept on kissing her, like she was the only thing that mattered, the only thing in this world he gave a damn about, and _oh, she was._

And then he felt something close around the wrist she held pinned to the wall. Something cold and strong.

He froze. Opened his eyes slowly. She kept her face very close to his as that something slid into place with a metallic _click._ He felt restraints around his ankles materialize loudly too, and all at once knew what was happening.

Lavellan met his accusing gaze and did not flinch.

"To trick the Trickster..." he had to keep his voice very quiet, or he would scream, "It would seem I have met my match at last."

"I learned from the best, after all." She replied just as softly.

His mouth twisted into a wry grimace, and his hand fell away from her in disgust, "I should have better questioned your apparently newfound ability to dream lucidly, to manipulate the Fade as I do."

"It wasn't me." She admitted, never looking away from his face, "I'm no Dreamer. I have another elven friend who is, though. He built this pocket of the Fade to contain you."

"And Wisdom agreed to help you lure me here." He realized coldly.

She nodded, "I can't kill you. I don't have it in me. But I can't let you rip this world apart either, so this is the next best thing."

"I am curious, _vhenan,"_ he gave the word a sardonic edge, "How do you intend to keep me trapped in the Fade like this? Your Dreamer has constructed quite the cage, but I guarantee it is not strong enough to hold me, even if it is a permanent fixture. Soon I will wake."

"No, you won't." She whispered, "Not for a very long time. Maybe not ever. Wisdom left to tell Abelas I succeeded in bringing you here, with help. He will have finished the ritual to put you into uthenera by now."

Solas seemed to pale quite suddenly.

"No..."

She had to look away from him then.

"You don't share power." She uttered, for some reason feeling that she owed him something close to an explanation for her actions, "You don't trust people enough, you don't like organizations. There's no one who follows you that can replace you; no one else who can tear down the Veil and destroy the world. It's your greatest weakness," she raised her eyes again, sadly, "To have no faith in others. To not believe in them. You simply must put the fate of the world in your hands and your hands alone. Which makes it easy to stop you. Remove _you,_ and your followers will flounder. The world keeps turning. The People can and _will_ pick ourselves up without you. I _believe_ the world can get better without you."

His breathing was approaching the erratic, hurt and betrayal finally making an appearance.

"Don't do this." He pleaded.

"I didn't want to," she confided, taking a step back, "but sometimes terrible choices are all that remain." He tried to step forward with her, reaching for her, but the chains rattled and held fast. He tried to cast a spell with his free hand to remove them, to weaken them, _anything,_ but they simply turned an eerie, bright red before settling back to black again. His magic was useless here.

"No." He muttered, truly beginning to panic.

"A lot of power was poured into this from thousands of mages and Templars, all through Feynriel." She explained, continuing to back away, "Those chains will hold for a little while, until I'm gone, but you can't leave. As powerful as you are, you're not getting out."

"You would leave me like this?" he gasped, finding it difficult to take in air, "Trapped here forever?"

"Is that not what you did to the Evanuris?" she asked, still looking upon him with remorse, "You felt it was the only way, to stop them from destroying the world. This is the same."

"No!" he cried, desperate, "I am nothing like them!"

"But you are." She told him wretchedly, pausing for a moment, "You're exactly like them, don't you see? You've become the thing you rebelled against. You don't even see us as people, you don't _see-"_

She broke off with a sob, finally giving up on trying to _make_ him see, and turned away. She focused instead on putting one foot in front of the other, because her limbs felt like lead.

"Luthori! _Please!_ Don't leave me here! _Vhenan-!"_

She could hear everything he was feeling in his voice; the anger, the fearful tremors, the disbelief, the unimaginable hurt in being betrayed by someone he loved. The chains rattling as he struggled against them fruitlessly. Tears poured down her cheeks and left them cold. It had to be her, though; he wouldn't have trusted anyone else, he would have killed anyone else.

'Just get to the edge of the clearing,' she thought, 'Get out and then you can collapse and scream and vomit and cry-'

"I won't tear down the Veil!" he promised frantically, "I'll leave the world be, I swear it! I-I'll do whatever you ask! Just, _please!"_

Lies. He wouldn't. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking.

"Vhenan! Stay with me!" That brought her up short. She had been expecting him to shout, curse, yell, cry, promise her anything to get her to set him free, but not once had she considered he would ask her to...to stay with him.

"Don't leave me alone." He begged, "Please don't. I couldn't bear it. I won't. I know I won't, not like this, I'll go mad. Stay with me at least, please."

She didn't want him to be alone.

Feynriel materialized in front of her, over the threshold of Fen'Harel's prison where a shimmering barrier gave way to nothingness, and shook his head. The elf extended his hand to her. Lavellan saw his lips move, and though they were physically too far away for her to have understood him by conventional means, she heard him clearly all the same, "You know you can't."

Somehow she found the will to keep walking.

"No!" Solas cried from behind her, "No, please! Don't go! Don't leave me, vhenan!"

She was sobbing inconsolably by the time she reached Feynriel, though she felt the walk took eons. Her hand reached for him, desperate to leave, and he took it gently.

_"Vhenan!"_ She heard him scream one last time before she was pulled away and up, then out of the Fade altogether.

She awoke alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have issues with the pacing of this one, I really do. But I wanted the transition between 'oh everything's lovely and bright and fluffy' to 'well this turned dark and heart breaking' to be quite sudden.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I'll try for a happy one shot next to ease the pain.
> 
> -LaWren


	4. Honestly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where he closed himself off and hid what he was feeling, she responded with honesty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Me? I'm dishonest. And you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict, when they're gonna do something incredibly...stupid." - Captain Jack Sparrow. So relevant. So true. 
> 
> Yes, I did listen to the 'Pirates of the Caribbean' soundtrack while writing this. The beginning of 'Jack Sparrow' in particular.

He worried when she didn't sleep, when he couldn't find her in the Fade. The Dread Wolf would search and search, knowing full well it was fruitless, if he couldn't sense her at all. But doing something distracted him from his heart seizing in his chest, from the beginnings of outright panic. An overreaction, he knew. He should stop invading her dreams altogether, he knew. Yet what he knew and did not know were two very different things and he _did not know where she was._

Solas awoke in frustration, unable to roll over and enter the Fade again after almost ten hours of sleep. Rising from his bed, entirely alert, he hoped he would receive a report on her whereabouts today that would appease him somewhat, unlikely though that was. After disbanding the Inquisition she was so much harder to keep track of; his best agents could collectively scrape together a vague picture from cold trails and ambiguous sightings. It wasn't enough. These things could not tell him of her wellbeing. He knew she wasn't sleeping well, but he did not know why, for certain.

He headed for the great hall, dressed modestly in a simple tunic and furs, better to dispel fantastical notions of godhood. Posturing was necessary at times of course, but a closer connection would better instil a sense of loyalty in his followers. He needed to appear accessible and open, hence his habit of serving himself when it came to meals. Though he often took them up to his study regardless, it was an opportunity for his agents to see Fen'Harel in person.

It was uncharacteristically quiet as he approached the hall. He was up late, so perhaps most of his agents had left already.

He was wrong.

Rounding the corner, he was relatively surprised to note the hall was unusually full. Yet all were tense, and an air of uncertainty hovered, almost stiflingly so. A few of his followers looked relieved to see him paused at the entrance, while others looked apprehensive. Some outright blanched and seemed as though they would very much like to disappear, though apparently couldn't quite muster the will to move. Fen'Harel's eyes scanned the hall shrewdly, searching for the cause of this strange atmosphere. When his gaze finally settled on the sight of her, he was reasonably sure his face drained of colour.

Luthori Lavellan stood in the communal kitchen, not truly separated from the hall itself, quietly humming 'The Dawn Will Come' while stirring the steaming contents of many pots and pans on the go. Upon closer inspection he also recognized Dorian, helping her brew a large pot of tea, while the Lady Morrigan sat near them, waiting for her breakfast expectantly.

Solas squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed at an eye with the heel of his palm. This had to be a dream.

"Good morning, ma sa'lath!" Lavellan chirped warmly, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

He wasn't sure how to respond, and so said nothing. She tipped her head to the side disapprovingly at his poor manners, but continued to serve up breakfast. With a proud little noise, Dorian set down a laden tray of cups and a pot of tea near Morrigan's elbow.

The witch, for her part, looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Look, it's not Tevine, but it will have to do." Dorian defended the brew brusquely.

Morrigan's tone was infuriatingly aloof and dripped of dismissiveness, "'Tis not truly the tea itself at fault for its no doubt poor taste, but rather the one that prepared it wrongly."

The Magister's moustache seemed to bristle slightly in outrage, "I can hardly be held accountable for supposedly poor tea brewing technique when the equipment I have at my disposal is sub-par."

"Indeed, blame the facilities for your substandard domestic skills."

"Now now children," Lavellan stepped in before their bickering went any further, "Play nice. We are in esteemed company."

Both Morrigan and Dorian snorted derisively.

A few of his agents glared at them for the insult, and Solas frowned. "How did you get here?" he asked her, "How did you find this place?"

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before she spoke, "Those are very poor questions to ask, ma lath. I can't imagine you'd be unaware that this little island is only accessible by Eluvian. A few of which Morrigan can open at will."

The witch in question turned to look at him with a small, but smug smirk.

"And _honestly,_ it was far too easy to just follow your agents about the Crossroads. They should be more careful." She continued, her tone edging towards mock concern.

"I shall bear that in mind." He replied stiffly.

Lavellan set down three bowls of porridge of a near perfect consistency at the table they had claimed, alongside fruit and warm bread.

"This base is awfully well stocked, Solas," Dorian commented lightly, shifting slices of apple onto his plate, "Wherever do you get it all from?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose while his agents looked on in silence, obviously unsure of what to do. Was this truly happening?

"I am not at liberty to answer that question." He replied sharply, narrowing his eyes at them.

Morrigan made an amused noise while Dorian sighed, and Lavellan tutted at him.

"I answered your questions." She pointed out, and he wasn't certain if the hint of hurt in her voice was genuine, "You're not being very fair. Honestly, you've been a terrible host so far."

"He most certainly has!" The Tevinter agreed readily, "Look at the state of these grapes, not even peeled!"

That drew a smile from her, and he stared at it for longer than he should have.

"Has no one told you to leave?" he asked when he'd recovered, casting a glance over the crowded hall from which his followers seemed to shrink back.

"Don't blame them," Lavellan told him, and her tone was almost motherly, "The poor dears had no clue how to handle the situation. It is a very peculiar one, you must admit. Besides, all we're doing is having breakfast; that's hardly a declaration of war now, is it?"

Fen'Harel cast his gaze over them, noting that only Lavellan seemed completely at ease. Morrigan's shoulders were a little too stiff and Dorian mostly kept his eyes on his food.

He spoke directly to her, "Why are you here?"

She smiled again, though it was a small thing, "To see you of course."

"And so you have." He responded, doing his best to be cold, though the veneer was dishonest, "You may leave now."

"Oh, well, if we _may."_ Morrigan evidently took offense at his presumptuous arrogance.

"He treats his friends terribly," Dorian added, casually observing a grape he'd mustered the fortitude to peel himself, "I still have no idea what you see in him."

Lavellan only stared up at him evenly, until he could stand it no more and had to look away.

"Very well." She conceded, and stood, "It seems I overstepped."

She did not apologize or ask for forgiveness though, and he was thankful for it.

"I haven't even finished my tea." The Magister grumbled, following her lead.

"Be grateful, it's vile." The witch informed, deadpan.

Morrigan took the lead as they made to file out, while Lavellan brought up the rear. He tried to stop himself from taking her arm as she passed him, he really did, but he had to know...

"What was the true purpose of this _pleasant_ visit?"

She blinked up at him, searching his face, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

This surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have. He'd wanted to make sure she was well too, after all.

"I can never tell when we're in the Fade; you're always a wolf." She explained candidly, "So I had to see somehow, and Dorian and Morrigan agreed to humour me."

He glanced at the two mages then, noting that they were waiting for her a respectful if cautious distance away. It was not impossible that he had never given them enough credit.

She smiled at him, and it was soft and warm, "I'm just checking up on you, Solas, honestly."

He believed her.

Solas took the opportunity to scan her face too, to really take her in. She seemed healthy; not too thin, her skin pale but clear, yet there were dark circles under her eyes.

His shoulders rose and dropped as he sighed in something akin to defeat or acceptance, before he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, in front of both his followers and hers.

"Please," he requested gently, "try to get some more sleep, vhenan."

Her smile grew, and she nodded once, "Only if you try for a little less. Open your eyes; stay awake."

He knew what she meant. It was a promise he was hesitant to make, and considered telling her so. Yet he found the words to deny her wouldn't come, so after a moment, he nodded to her in return. She flashed him one last brilliant smile before she left with her small entourage.

Solas folded his arms behind his back as he watched her go, and hoped that she might visit him again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Nothing angsty happened. Until next time. It's not called Solavellan hell for nothing. Also, I couldn't decide between Dorian or Morrigan to accompany Lavellan, as both of them bring the sass and the class I so adore. So have both. It's a shame there's no interaction (that I'm aware of) between them in game.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> \- LaWren


	5. The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both of them are born leaders, but in this form, someone must be the alpha of their new, small pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this one is 'How I Would Die' and/or 'I Know What You Are' from the 'Twilight' Saga soundtrack (the Philharmonic Orchestra versions); say what you will about the series, the movies have an undeniably incredible soundtrack.

The night is dark but clear; the moon is bright and whole, and its light trickles through to the forest floor even through the dense canopy of trees. Everything is in sharp focus to him, through a strong sense of smell in particular, but its eyes are an unnatural red and the tint throws even the darkest shadows into relief. The wolf enjoys the feel of well-built, powerful muscles working, rippling under its coat as it runs. It likes to run.

It likes to hunt.

He smells a scent on the air. Sweet and heady, and he veers left without ever consciously deciding to, never breaking stride. His mouth waters even as he pants loudly. She smells _delicious._

The wolf slows its pace somewhat. It would not do for her to hear him coming. His paws eat up the distance between them, and her scent gets stronger and thicker. She is close.

He slows to a prowl, keeping his head low to the ground as he sweeps the area with his eyes. He does not see her. Then, it lifts its head and sniffs the air, searching for a trail. She is _close._

There is only a moment of warning as she leaps out from the thicket towards him, just enough to turn his body just so; her teeth sink into his shoulder rather than his neck. It draws blood, nonetheless, seeping into his black fur and running down his leg.

He retaliates, snapping and snarling. Employing piercing teeth and sharp claws, giving as good as he got. They are both very loud, shattering the quiet of the night; fierce, animalistic sounds tear from their throats as they collide over and over again, trying to get the upper hand over the other. He almost does when she yelps in pain as his jaw clamps onto her upper arm, then wrenches his whole body to the side as he _throws_ her down. She hits the ground hard, but rolls away and is back on her feet in a second.

The mahogany red wolf growls at him viciously, hackles raised, her mouth pulled back so her impressive teeth are on full display. It does not intimidate him, and he is ready when she dives back in. They clash again, pushing against each other, even rising onto their hind legs temporarily such is their ferocity. Where she is young and vibrant, he is more experienced, and when he deliberately eases back it throws her off balance, and he presses his advantage to knock her down, surging forward. She is not prepared and goes tumbling. They roll in the dirt, making more noise than actually fighting now. Yet he knows how to draw up his back legs and press his claws into her stomach; she whines and barks in instinctive alarm, tries to struggle away, and it is enough for him to be able to close his teeth around the her neck.

The fighting abruptly stops. He _could_ clamp down. Press down with his powerful jaws and snap her neck, crushing the vertebrae into small, jagged pieces.

He doesn't.

He is above her now, but she is by no means completely still beneath him. Even now she jerks and struggles infrequently, trying to escape his grasp. He is growling in a long, steady stream in warning, stopping only to take in breath to keep going. She snarls back defiantly, head raised and eyes wide and rolling, even if she is pinned to the floor. Every time she tries to move though, his teeth dig in to her flesh just a little more. He has her.

He is still growling, low and deceptively soft. With a whine and a sigh, she concedes defeat, going limp and exposing her throat to him.

He lowers his body to rest atop hers, before releasing his hold on her neck. The black wolf sets about licking at her wounds almost immediately, and she huffs. The red wolf allows him to lick away the blood, his tongue pleasantly warm and coarse, and every so often his teeth would nibble at the knots in her fur, grooming.

She twists to get her front legs under her, propped up slightly while he continues his ministrations, though he won't let her get up entirely. He is much larger than her, and easily keeps her pinned below his weight while he sees to her superficial injuries. When he stands, his posture is proud, and his tail is high.

She is his now.

He sniffs at her while she remains laying down, enjoying the distinctive scent that practically rolls off her, and her ears twitch. It is only when his muzzle drifts too far south that she whips her head around and _snarls_. He backs off but responds in kind, refusing to be cowed, reminding her of who exactly won their confrontation. She calms somewhat, but doesn't stop growling until his face is back next to hers; he nips at her ear and the growls taper off. She is strong and full of fire, and he wouldn't have it any other way, but they have just established _he_ is the dominant one.

When they are wolves, at least. When they are elves it is a different story.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was a bit...weird. I have no idea where it came from, guys. I was going through some amazing Solavellan art on Tumblr and then whoops my hands slipped on the keyboard and this happened. 
> 
> I just thought it might be interesting to offer a more animalistic interpretation of shape-shifting in the Dragon Age universe. Like, are they always in perfect control or can they not help adopting more bestial attributes, regarding the creature they choose?
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> \- LaWren


	6. Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wonders where his mind goes, when he stares through her like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by 'Yuna's Ballad' from Final Fantasy X-2. Takes place during Inquisition.

Sometimes he stares off into space and she watches in silence, trying to figure out what he's thinking. Sometimes he stares right _through_ her and she has to draw his attention to the present again. Sometimes she will say something perfectly innocuous but it causes his brow to draw down a little and his eyes to go hollow. She brings him back with gentle kisses to his jaw, up to his brow where she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach and it makes him chuckle. She doesn't stop until she's traced his other eyebrow, his eyelids (he exhales in a gust so she knows it must feel good to be kissed there), down his nose to the tip, across his cheekbones, the corners of his mouth (that turn up at the touch), and the dimple in his chin. Then she parts her lips and waits. He'll look at her then, really _look_ at her and she is sure he sees what she wants him to see.

_Ar lath ma. Where did you go? I'm right here. What troubles you? You know you can tell me anything. I love you. I'm here. You're in my heart always. I'll support you. Aneth ara. Ask me anything. I love you._

She's not sure why that seems to cause him pain.

But he takes her face into his hands oh so gently, and threads his fingers through her hair because he knows she likes it. He lowers his eyes to her lips and grazes his nose against hers twice, slowly. When he is in this mood he is always unhurried with his affections, seeming to savour every touch. She raises her chin and tilts her head, ready when he is. He smiles a little at her receptiveness, before lowering his face to hers. He kisses her tenderly, softly, like she is beloved and precious to him. So very, ineffably dear to him. And he holds her there for a long while, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, kissing her lightly. They think no more and become lost in each other, every care or worry simply falls away. He'll linger on the last kiss, wishing for it to never end, and sometimes it takes him two tries to pull away. But not completely, for he then rests his forehead against hers, and she is not sure if he keeps his eyes closed too because she always does. They stand in their own world for a moment. Just theirs. For a moment.

She places a gentle hand on his chest, above the jawbone pendant, and over his heart.

He takes a breath as though it hurts, as though it _burns._ As though she is pressing down on his chest and the pressure is crushing his heart. Maybe it does. Maybe it is. Yet he brings his own hand to rest over hers, encouraging her to keep it there. She opens her eyes and his own are turbulent, swirling with all his thoughts and feelings and she can't get a grasp on one before it's swept away by another. He says nothing. But his eyes feel so _old_ and deep and look upon her with all the love he can muster from his worn soul and for a strange, inexplicable second she wants to weep. She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what she _can_ do.

So she pours everything she is into loving him, and hopes it will be enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> \- LaWren


	7. Of Gods and Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thought him a God but none inspired devotion in him as she could so what did that make her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is mostly smut and sin, with some post-Trespasser musings disguised as pillow talk. Try either 'Daughter - Smoke' or 'Touch' by the same artist, if you like.

He knew this would happen.

This was partially why he had summoned all his strength to walk away from her, years ago, before it went this far. _Twice._ But not this time; this time she pulled him in, under, over, and he did not resist. This time he allowed the heat in her eyes to kindle the fire in his heart and let the embers to pool in his belly, where they caught and spread instead of dampened, until only she could quench them.

This time was...the sixth, or seventh? He'd lost count. It didn't matter, for there were to be many more times after. He would never have enough, and he'd known that. There was no going back from this. He knew her now. How could he raise the world she loved to the ground _now?_ How could he continue with his plans when she was in his bed? He'd never been able to stand the thought of a world without her in it, only, now he wished to stay with her. To live. The din'anshiral no longer held the appeal it once did.

For he had already seen heaven, and it was in her face as she was swept up in the throes of pleasure.

'Again', she'd ask, waking him, pulling him from the Fade, and he didn't mind in the slightest, 'More.'

'Always', he'd think, seating himself inside her again. Lost.

He'd known. And he had let it happen anyway. He'd loved her for years, in a way that transcended bodily pleasures, though he'd certainly never been averse to such things. He had known, if he were to lay with her, it wouldn't just be about the physical. It would be an emotional, spiritual experience too. Everything would spill over out of this physical outlet and he would not be able to contain it; he would have all of her, and she all of him, and there was no going back from that. It was selfish, to want that connection, but he'd _known._ Known it would be like water colours tipping over and meeting, blending together into new shades until they couldn't be separated again.

The first time she had come to him the initiation was her doing. She'd taken him completely by surprise, as she always did. To find her alone in his chambers, waiting for him, as if they were not at war with each other, as though being within his supposedly secret stronghold was a perfectly natural occurrence for her. To his credit he had tried to make her leave, by whatever means she got here (he didn't ask), but she had just smiled, leaned back on his bed, and made herself comfortable.

"Vhenan," he'd admonished, exasperated, moving over to her in order to pull her up. A mistake. As soon as he was close enough she'd pulled him down with her, and it was a simple matter to catch his mouth with her own.

 _'Just this once.'_ He'd thought. The best liars are also adept at lying to themselves, after all.

Once was not enough for either of them.

Even if the first time had been strange, and awkward, almost fumbling. He felt very young again, and did not last long. She didn't seem to mind; when he tried to make it up to her by pleasuring her with his fingers afterwards, she'd stopped him. He was very confused. She had allowed him to lose himself inside her, it was only fair she should come apart too.

"Why don't you want that?"

"It's not you." She assured, "I'm just...I've never...gone that far. I've come close before, but instinct tells me to pull away. I don't know why."

Well. That would not do.

This time he would not let her pull away. This time he was meticulous and methodical and this was all about _her._

Lavellan had been somewhat nervous, as soon as it had become clear where exactly his trail of kisses were leading to. She'd never experienced this before either. When his tongue traced her folds she gasped, and tried to sit up, but he'd soothed her with sweet words and gentle reassurances that he truly wanted to do this for her. After just a few moments she practically melted under his mouth. Oh gods she'd never felt anything like this before. She voiced her pleasure and Solas knew they were building up to quite the crescendo; like a dam finally about to be relieved of the intense pressure behind it all in one go.

Ah. They were reaching the peak. He was going to push her over the edge this time. He worked his tongue and mouth over her clit devotedly and she could feel something building and it felt so good but-

"No no no no no..." She murmured unthinkingly. Instinctually she tried to squirm away, and he threw an arm over her hips to keep her pinned. She reached down but he was quicker, and caught her hand in his, twining their fingers together tightly. She alternated between trying to move away and rolling her hips into him, acting purely on instinct. He'd known she would likely do this; they had established a safe word beforehand just in case. Until it slipped from her lips he would carry on.

"No please, I can't-" she broke off with an unsteady moan. The swooping sensation in her abdomen was already there and it was too high she couldn't oh gods she was going to _fall,_ "Solas. Solas!"

"Shhh, vhenan." He soothed, his fingers temporarily replacing his mouth. She was almost sobbing. "I have you. You're safe. You can come. Come for me." A shuddering gasp was the response. He released her hand so she could snatch up the sheets in her fist, desperate to cling to anything that might keep her grounded; her other hand grabbed the bedpost above her head, the knuckles white. His own hands curled around her hips and pulled her whole body down with a tug, closer to him, where his mouth bore down on her again. Her legs ached a little because her muscles were tensing but everything was far away because of this _feeling-_

 _What was happening?_ What were these sounds coming from her mouth? To her ears they sounded distinctly unflattering, or at least that's what she could hear beyond her pounding heartbeat causing the blood to rush through her ears why did it feel like she was going to float away _oh_ no it's too much please _I can't-_ Oh! She was going to...going to fall no no no-!

Her orgasm crashed over her all at once and she wasn't _prepared_ for this. She was relatively certain she was being too loud but she was freefalling and spiralling and nothing else mattered...

Solas watched in satisfaction as her body and face contorted, her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Determined to draw out the experience for as long as possible, he kept a tight hold on her jolting hips and did not stop pleasuring her, moving faster in time with her instinctual motions. She writhed and panted, moaned and gasped and she was beautiful. Lavellan's mind was elsewhere as she reached to grab the back of his head to press his face harder against her.

'Ah, that's better.' Not so timid. He was only too happy to oblige. Soon after she started to slow down, and he followed her lead, receptive to her body's needs. Her hand slipped away from his head as she came back into herself a little, though it still felt like she was floating somehow. But she could feel Solas' warm, rough hands smoothing over her thighs and knew she wasn't going to fall. Not in a scary way, anyway. Her next exhale was more controlled as she started to gain awareness, but it still came out shuddering. Her whole body was trembling, her muscles apparently unable to decide between tense gratification or limp relief. Solas helped with that by coming up to drape his body over hers and she relaxed, allowing him to mould himself against her. She felt his breath on her face but wasn't quite ready to open her eyes yet; he chuckled and she felt the reverberation from his chest through to her own.

"Did you enjoy that, vhenan?"

She cracked her eyes open reluctantly, and knew he would be smiling down at her impishly before she saw it for herself.

"That was..."

Overwhelming. A bit scary. Maybe a little embarrassing...and so, so good. She kissed him in thanks, tasting herself on his tongue, and he accepted her gratitude with zest.

No, there was no going back after this.

He enjoyed laying with her in the afterglow, tracing patterns on her skin with his fingertips. Breathing her in and letting peace take him for a moment. In this space, he doesn't have to feel guilt, remorse, or pain. No mistakes. No wrong. No need to weep in despair, no need to hurt, or break, stay strong, endure, bleed. She accepts all that he is, and he loves her. He can't describe how much, but he tries to show her.

He will show her.

He can't ask her to forsake everything she loves in this world for him. And he won't renounce this world for everything he loves in his when it is not for the love of her.

"You want to find another way." He murmurs in her ear.

She is holding his hand and turns her head towards him where it is pillowed on his arm. He watches each movement carefully.

"You don't want to talk about it." She whispers, not daring to hope. He had always been very clear; if she would stay she would not try to dissuade him from his path.

"No." He agrees, "But I am suffering from a conflict of interest that has only grown stronger recently."

He kisses the tip of her ear to emphasize his point, and her lips turn up at the corners.

"Move forward, not back," she beseeches gently, yet fervently, "Look to the future, not the past. You will not find your happiness there."

"No." he agrees again, clutching her closer for a second, "That is not where my heart lies."

She grins, for the words have a double meaning.

"But it is not just about me." He says, trying to be unselfish. She sees right through him.

"I think we both know it was always about you." She whispers, not unkindly.

She is right. Restoring Elvhenan would be a noble goal, if it wasn't about assuaging his guilt, correcting his mistakes.

Solas brings her other hand to his lips, the spectral one that glows green and is held in place by his magic. It has feeling though, and her lips part as he kisses her fingertips. She knows him, as he knows her, and she is right.

"What other way is there?" he asks, and it is a genuine, thoughtful question.

Lavellan turns her whole body to face him in her enthusiasm, "Let's build anew. Start from scratch. Halamshiral fell, because the world was not ready. That was centuries ago, ma sa'lath, and it takes that long to enact lasting social change. Elves are in a good position to take our freedom _now._ You are awake, and I can be a symbol. Leliana is the Divine, and she would never attack a settlement we control. And Briala can help us, from her position in Orlais-"

He interrupts her with a firm kiss. It sounds foolish to him; too optimistic, too naive, it will never work. Her hopes will be crushed and they'll be back to square one again and he'll have to see her in pain because she failed her people-

And yet, if anyone can achieve the impossible, it's her. He has no faith in the humans or the elves or anything of this world but he has faith in her. The one light that glimmers in an ocean of numb, perpetual darkness. The one thing he'd done right since he had awoken was to follow, not lead. To trust she would prevail against Corypheus. To put Skyhold in her capable hands. Many thought him a God but she inspired devotion in him where no one else could so what did that make her?

"Alright, vhenan," he states, and sharing the burden on his shoulders is both a cruelty and a blessed relief, "I concede to your wisdom, for my own is evidently lacking. Whatever you decide, I will follow you."

She is beaming at him, her eyes welling in happiness, "We will walk the same path, as equals, side by side. To make something strong and whole and beautiful."

"Lathbora viran." He mutters solemnly. She shakes her head.

"Enasalin viran." She corrected, with such conviction in her eyes. He couldn't help but smile, and touch his forehead to hers in acceptance.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've probably butchered DA's Elvish at the end there, and for that I am sincerely sorry. If 'lathbora viran' means 'The path to a place of lost love', then 'Enasalin viran' hopefully means 'The path to a place of victory'. Hopefully.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always.
> 
> \- LaWren


	8. Forgive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was an accident."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend 'Daughter - Smother'. Not quite a perfect fit, but it won't leave my head.

"It was an accident." He breathes.

She hums softly, and her eyes are kind.

"An error in communication." He continues, hoping to make her understand, "It wasn't meant to be _that_ pillar, that pillar was supposed to hold, to hold up the temple's ceilings on the other side of the valley-"

"Shh." Lavellan soothes, "It's okay."

Her hand, feather light, barely touching him at all, glides over his chest. She rests on the furs next to him and is as pale as the moonlight filtering through the window.

"It's not." He says, and his voice catches in grief, "It is not okay."

She is so light he barely feels a thing when she moves to straddle his hips.

"Silly." She croons quietly, "You should have been there, and it might not have happened."

He thinks his presence would have only made it worse. Then he would have had to watch in detail as the temple crumpled and crushed so many beneath its weight. Because of his idiocy.

"I'm _sorry._ " He tells her. It was her people that had suffered, her camp that had been flattened under tons of rock and marble.

She looks upon him with the utmost sympathy, "I know."

"If I had just taken the time to confirm what I expected my agents to accomplish, then-"

"Venavis." She ordered, pressing a gentle finger to his lips, "You are right to feel guilty. All those people...did not deserve such a cruel end."

His hands come up to rest very lightly on her thighs, as she lowers her upper body to rest along his. She tucks her head under his chin before she speaks again, "But it's good that you are capable of feeling this way. My people are real to you after all."

He holds her very carefully, as carefully as he holds his tongue. For in truth, she was wrong.

Fen'Harel is sitting in one of Elgar'nan's temples, when she comes to him next. Sitting in a gilded throne –for the all father always held an inclination to displays of authority- that is slowly being overwhelmed by nature; moss, vines and shrubbery grow around it, and it makes him feel less garish while sitting upon it.

Soft, cold fingers cover his eyes, and she whispers into his right ear, "Guess who?"

He smiles a little, in spite of himself, "Who else would visit me, and dare to presume to be so playful?"

She giggles, and it is a warm, rich sound; his heart thumps painfully, "Your loneliness is partially self imposed, ma vhenan."

He sighs, and brings his hands up to take hold of hers, "I suppose that is true. But you must understand why? Everything I love dies."

He only has to blink, and she is in his lap, "Nothing lasts forever."

Her tone is mournful, but also forgiving, as though she has accepted that is the way of things.

"But I want it to." He says, knowing perfectly well he sounds like a petulant child. Yet also not, for he is too old and has endured too many profound hurts to ever be puerile again.

She titters like a mother would regardless, and plays with his fingers, "My poor wolf. You weather a never ending storm. Time never ceases."

When he was younger, when his eyes were brighter and fuller with optimism and hope, he would have dismissed her defeatist attitude. _I will make Time itself bend to my will._ He could try. He had considered it. Going back to Arlathan, truly, and avoiding his mistakes before he's even made them. But then she may never come into being, and he is too worn down to change his plans and dredge up any more fighting spirit.

"Ar lath ma." He says instead, simply.

She smiles, thin and wispy, "I love you too."

He crumples, then. Without warning his grief overwhelms him, and he is crying harshly and trying to clutch at her, but she breaks apart in his hands and slips through his fingers. A cold aura drifts over him as pale tendrils streak past his face, as he curls his hands into fists.

He speaks to empty air anyway, "Please, I'm sorry, I never meant for this. I'll do anything. I didn't want this, it's too much, not _her_ -"

Fen'Harel covers his face with his hands and weeps.

He curls in on himself and rocks unconsciously, murmuring over and over that he loves her, he really _truly_ does, and this sacrifice is not one he thinks he can bear.

It is dark when he finally regains control of himself. It was time. Time to find her.

He works alone, in the night, while his agents sleep or look on in empathetic respect. They are considerate enough not to approach him, to give him space while he digs away at the rubble; sometimes with his bare hands, sometimes using magic.

The sun is rising when he finds her body. He can barely tell it's her at first, but, he can make out the distinctive auburn colour of her hair, and the jawbone necklace around her neck confirms it. She is utterly broken, bones and fractured and crushed, flesh torn and ragged, covered in black blood and dust; but he is morbidly relieved to note she seems to have taken a nasty blow to the head. The gore is horrific, but he hopes at least she did not suffer. He gathers her body in his arms like she is made of glass.

But he is not quite sure what to do with it. It is Dalish tradition to bury their dead, so that they may return to the earth, but would she want that? She had confided in him how she had never felt as though she had a home. She'd never settled anywhere with the Dalish, and though Skyhold was close, it was not what she had envisioned for herself.

_Home is with people,_ he recalled her saying once, gazing up through her eyelashes at him shyly, _with you._

With him, then.

Solas takes her to the closest of his temples. It is one of the most ruined of all the Elvhen structures still standing, but there is a chamber deep in the bowls of the place he knows will be relatively untouched.

He places her body on a pedestal, on the platform meant for uthenera; its magic endures, and he can feel it pulling him to rest, to sleep, to dream.

He does not want to dream. He knows he will dream of her.

Instead he leaves her there, and moves to the next chamber instead. It houses a single eluvian, which leads to a single place. Darker, dank, and impossible to reach by any other means. Once he is through, and the blue glow dims, he takes a breath and turns.

His eyes flash, and the mirror stands petrified, encased in stone.

The Black City suits its name, he thinks. That's all it is. Blackness, thick and cloying, oozing from the walls, filling the air. The ground is steady though, as he walks. It is not so dark that he cannot see what is directly in front of him, though it is deceptive in the sense that all he can see _is_ darkness, pressing around him. It is difficult to remember he is physically in the Fade; it is like he is encased in a dark bubble, like a one way mirror. Others can see the City, but those in the City cannot see out to them.

He did not intend that, when he built the place. No matter.

Fen'Harel finds a room, a cold one, and pushes the round stone that acts as a door until it is in place. It will offer little protection, when his kin set upon him. But it will serve for a few moments.

When he turns she is waiting for him, and she is the only thing in the room which isn't _dark._ Lavellan radiates light, and she is more translucent than he has seen so far.

"I didn't want this. Why would you do this to yourself?" She accuses.

His knees buckle, and he does not fight it. He crumples to the ground, and just gives in, rolling onto his back. Blackness is all he sees until she pops her head into his line of sight.

Her expression is concerned, "Solas?"

He snorts, then chuckles, and then laughs, getting progressively louder. There are tears streaming from his eyes when he is finished.

"Come here." He requests, holding out his arms. She concedes, lowering herself to rest along his side. He finds he can hold her tighter now, and she will not dissipate into the air and leave him alone. Pointedly, he does not think about what that might mean.

"You're dead." He mumbles instead. He'd always been afraid to say it aloud before, as though it would make it terribly final.

"Yes." She agrees, "Your mind apparently can't quite grasp that fact."

He sniggers quietly again, "Evidently."

They lay together silently for a while, and he strokes her hair. She feels so very real; but then, she always did.

"I hope to be with you soon."

"Aren't you already?"

He shrugs, "True enough."

The Evanuris would find him sooner or later, and he would certainly not be granted the mercy of a quick death, but death was the inevitable end, regardless.

"Maybe they won't." She counters, "Maybe they're dead too. Then what? You don't know."

"Indeed." He speculates nonchalantly, "Then I suppose I shall content myself to rot here, for the rest of eternity."

"I'll stay with you."

"Ma serannas."

He curls himself towards her, lowering his head, and kisses her. Her lips are cold where he remembers warmth, but he'll take it. She tastes the same, if fainter; of honey and the tea he detests so.

"Forgive me." The tears are still tracing his cheeks, though he _feels_ spent.

Her eyes are sad and radiate pity, but she shakes her head, "No. You don't deserve it. You know that."

Yes, he knows. He knows. But his soul is tired and he just wants to be loved.

"I can love you without forgiving you." She points out quietly.

He hears them. There is a scraping sound, and eerie whispering. They are one with the darkness, moulded in its image. It feels like their very bones are hollow and thin, tinkering with every movement. They are coming for him.

"That is enough." He replies slowly, "I suppose it shall have to be."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> \- LaWren


End file.
